


The Shelter Rule

by the_wordbutler



Series: Motion Practice [37]
Category: Avengers (Comics), Young Avengers
Genre: Alternate Universe, Foster Care, Group Therapy, M/M, Teenagers, accidental lies, motion practice universe, note-writing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-01
Updated: 2016-04-01
Packaged: 2018-05-30 10:20:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,890
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6419905
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_wordbutler/pseuds/the_wordbutler
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Teddy’s life consists of a couple bags of clothes, a bed at the youth shelter, a therapy group run by his case manager, and two very dead parents.</p><p>At least, until he switches schools. </p><p>Then, Teddy’s life grows exponentially.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Shelter Rule

**Author's Note:**

> This story takes place roughly 18 months before Teddy joins the Banner-Stark household. Basically, very late in his freshman year of high school. Both he and Billy are older for their grades. Yes, this whole note boils down to “Kate sucks at math.”
> 
> Trigger warning for discussion of (but no outright) homophobia, discussion of parents dying (specifically Teddy’s mother), and teenagers kissing. Also, Tommy Shepherd is kind of an ass, and America swears a lot. But that’s nothing new.
> 
> Thanks as always to my fantastic beta-readers, Jen and saranoh. I made them feel things about teenagers in love. Hopefully, you'll feel things, too.

Teddy’s life changes forever on a Tuesday.

“All our new students are paired with peer ambassadors on their first day,” the guidance counselor says, every word crisp and perfectly pronounced. Like an alien doing her best impression of a human but sounding just a little bit off. “I know that Miss Jones has said you might not stay with us for long—”

Because he won’t, Teddy thinks. Because he _never_ does.

“—but we still think it's important that we welcome you into our little community. Especially since it’s so late in the school year.” She smiles, all teeth and no real warmth, and flips open the folder on her desk. “With that in mind, we assigned you to— Oh. Oh, _dear_.”

For the first time all morning, Teddy feels hopeful. “Problem?” he asks.

The counselor sighs. “Not a problem, necessarily, but—” Shaking her head, she punches a button on her stupidly complicated phone. “Leslie, is Sanjay still out from his bout with mononucleosis?”

She pronounces _mononucleosis_ the same snide way Teddy’s last foster mom pronounced _fibromyalgia_ , and Teddy rolls his eyes. “For the rest of the week and maybe next,” Leslie’s crackly voice reports. “His parents are worried about—”

“Oh, I have definitely _not_ forgotten, thank you.” The counselor jabs another button before glancing back at Teddy. Her neck and ears are red. “Your peer ambassador is out with a health issue,” she explains, like Teddy maybe missed the last thirty seconds. “I’ll need a moment to see who else starts the day with an elective. Maybe David Alleyne, or—”

“I don’t really need an ambassador,” Teddy interrupts, raising his hands. Her eyes narrow dangerously, and he tries on a smile. “I know that’s what schools do for new kids, but like you said: I’m only in the district until Jessica finds me another foster home. I’ll probably be gone in a couple days.”

She purses her lips. From all the tiny lines around them, Teddy wonders if she smokes. “That would be very unorthodox,” she says curtly.

“Would you believe I’m kind of unorthodox?” he asks.

“From your history of good grades and test scores? No.” He blinks, not sure if she’s joking, but she just reaches for the phone. “Billy Kaplan’s in photography class this morning,” she informs him. “We’ll start there.”

Teddy slumps back in his chair. “Sure, okay,” he agrees, and she smiles as she punches more buttons.

 

==

 

“The science wing smells like vanilla today,” Billy Kaplan says twenty minutes later. “The trophy case over there’s pretty boring, but the smell . . . ”

He sighs softly, and Teddy’s chest twists like someone’s trying to knot his lungs together. Not because he loves the smell of vanilla, but because of Peer Ambassador Billy.

Billy, who is unironically enthusiastic, filling all their silences by talking about photography and psychology and magicians club ( _seriously_ ) like he’s sharing the secrets of the universe with his new classmate.

Billy, who pushes his hair (dark, tousled, a little shaggy) out of his eyes as he talks, the charms on his leather bracelets catching in the fluorescent lights.

Billy, who wears skin tight jeans that leave nothing to Teddy’s already overactive imagination.

He’s smart and friendly and gorgeous, this ambassador, and Teddy—

“Why’d you move here?” Billy asks suddenly, and all at once, the illusion shatters. Worse, the wide-open warmth in Billy’s face dims almost immediately, proof positive that Teddy’s scowling. Billy raises his hands. “If you want to talk about it, I mean,” he adds quickly. “I’m sure it’s hard to—” 

“Hard’s not the right word,” Teddy interrupts, only half-lying. “It’s just a long story.”

Billy nods. “Yeah, okay,” he replies. His shoulders fall a little, though, and the guilt settles in Teddy’s stomach like a lead weight. He barely ever talks about the whole foster care thing, since nothing ruins a party faster than droning on about your dead parents. Now, standing shoulder-to-shoulder with a guy he actually _wants_ to talk to (and maybe more than that, he thinks when Billy chews on his lower lip), Teddy realizes he’s never learned how to explain his whole messed-up situation.

He rubs the side of his neck and draws in a steadying breath. “I—”

“We moved here five years ago,” Billy says out of the blue, and Teddy blinks as he shuts his stupid mouth. Billy glances over at him. “My parents are psychologists, but my dad decided he wanted to be a professor. He found a job at the university here and whisked us away.” He shakes his head a little. “Most the time, I barely miss New York. But some days, everything here feels really—”

The end of his sentence morphs into a cringe, and Teddy almost smiles. “That bad?”

Billy smirks. “My mom calls it ‘residual bitterness,’ but I don’t think there’s really a technical term for it.” He waits until Teddy chokes on a laugh to shrug. “Truth is,” he confesses, “I really hated it here for a long time. I’m pretty much over it now, but back when we moved . . . ”

“How’d you handle it?” Teddy asks, and Billy raises his eyebrows. “Besides just waiting for the bitterness to wear off, I mean.”

“Tried to will my old life back into reality, mostly.” He grins when Teddy snorts at him. “But since I’m an amateur magician instead of an actual wizard, I kind of failed.”

“No kidding,” Teddy deadpans.

Billy wrinkles his nose and elbows him, this amazing surge of contact that flashes through Teddy like an electrical current. When it finally stops tingling through the soles of Teddy’s feet, he swallows. “Listen, Bi—”

“Stop,” Billy cuts in. Teddy falters, stepping forward, and Billy responds by grabbing his wrist. His hand is everything Teddy imagined—warm and sure but still perfectly soft—and Teddy’s heart leaps into his throat. Billy, though, just draws in a long breath. “Here,” he says with a smile. “Chemistry lab vanilla, in all its glory.”

Teddy chuckles as the scent finally registers—slightly burnt, but still a nice change from the normal musty school smell. “Think Bath and Body Works’ll market it?” he asks.

Billy knocks their shoulders together. “Just close your eyes and breathe in,” he instructs, tipping his head back.

Teddy spends three whole seconds studying the line of Billy’s throat before he actually follows the instructions.

And Billy keeps holding his wrist.

 

==

 

That night at the shelter, Teddy stares at the ceiling and listens to his roommates sleep.

He resolves to never think of Billy Kaplan again.

(He fails within ten minutes.)

 

==

 

“Hey.”

The voice sounds about halfway familiar, and Teddy looks up from his geometry homework just as Billy Kaplan drops down next to him on the bleachers. His hair flops into his eyes, and he blows it out of the way before grinning at Teddy. “Long time no see, peer ambassadee.”

“Ambassadee?” Teddy repeats, trying not to admire the pink tinge to Billy’s cheeks or the breathless edge to his tone. In the week since Teddy’s big tour, they’ve barely run into one another at all. Aside from a few furtive glances across the lunch room and a quick meet-and-greet in the hallway (where Billy squeezed Teddy’s elbow and smiled), they’ve really not even seen each other, and Teddy—

He figures you can’t really miss someone you barely know, but something in his chest feels hollow in the hours between Billy sightings. Add in the fact that Billy wears his gym shorts with the waistband rolled up, showing off a lot of leg, and _yeah_.

Teddy double-checks that the study hall monitor is still playing Candy Crush on his tablet before glancing over at Billy. “Shouldn’t you be over in the field house?” he asks.

Billy shrugs. “Bathroom break. Or as Coach VanVleet calls it, a ‘don’t go off and flirt, Kaplan, ‘cause I don’t want to hunt you down’ break.” Teddy snorts at the horrible impression of the basketball coach, and Billy’s smile glimmers. “Don’t worry, though. He says that to everyone. Totally equal opportunity.”

“That mean you’re _not_ here to flirt?” Teddy asks. His voice sounds sticky.

Billy bites down on his lower lip as he glances at his sneakers. “Never said that.”

Even though the answer’s barely even a whisper, Teddy feels his ears and cheeks burn bright red. He drops his own gaze back to his math book, a desperate attempt to avoid flat-out staring at Billy, but his whole body wants to steal sideways looks. Commit him to memory, Teddy thinks, and he gulps around the thick feeling in his throat.

After a couple seconds, Billy sits up straighter. “Anyway,” he says, tossing a glance back to Teddy, “I used my peer ambassador superpowers to look up your schedule. Because I wanted to say hi, or whatever.”

Teddy blinks. “You did?”

“Yeah. And I— Uh.” A blush creeps up the side of his neck, as slow as a coiling vine, and something in the pit of Teddy’s stomach flutters. But Billy keeps quiet about the blushing as he ducks down to pull something out of his sock. “Here."

He shoves the tiny triangle of notebook paper into the space between them, and Teddy grins. “You still fold your notes like an eighth grader?”

Billy scowls. “Shut _up_ ,” he grumbles, and he knocks their shoulders together when Teddy chuckles. “Teasing me instead of just taking it is bad note etiquette.” 

“More words of wisdom from my ambassador.” Teddy wraps his hand around the note, but instead of releasing it, Billy presses his fingertips against Teddy’s palm. Teddy gulps before adding, “I don’t have anything for you, you know.”

Billy shrugs. “You’ll make it up to me, sometime,” he says, and he lingers for one more beat before slipping off the bleacher seat.

Teddy pockets the note and returns to his homework, but of course, he feels it in his pocket like a red-hot lump of lead through his last five word problems. The second he finishes the last equation, he slams his book shut and races to grab a bathroom pass. Out in the hall, he scans quickly for teachers before ducking into the nearest stairwell.

He swears his hands shake a little as he unfolds the note.

_Teddy,_

_Just writing this feels crazy, but since my parents always taught me to air my feelings instead of bottling them up, here it goes: I really liked meeting you last week. Like really. I only became a peer ambassador for college applications (another “gift” from the parents) but showing you around kind of made it worth the hassle. _

_Kind of._

_No offense to you, but ugh, you wouldn’t believe all the stupid side projects in the peer ambassador program._

_But back to the real point: I don’t really believe in fate or destiny or anything like that—too out there, you know?—but I spend a lot of time thinking about how you sometimes meet certain people for certain reasons. Maybe that’s a God thing. Finally, all the years of Hebrew school and going to synagogue amount to something! I guess what I’m saying is that maybe we were supposed to meet. To be friends or something, especially since I can’t stop thinking about you. _

_(This note super weird yet?)_

_(And now I’m blushing. Great.)_

_Anyway, I just wanted to say that meeting you did something weird to me, but in a good way. I’m glad you’re here, and I hope we can be friends. Or, if you’re not really looking for a friend, we can just be not-strangers._

_Until then, I’ll just daydream about you every time I smell vanilla. Since my mom loves candles, that’ll be pretty much every day. Again: thanks, parents!_

_Okay, bye for now,_  
_Billy_

Teddy reads the note through three times, until his breathing slows down and his heart stops hammering like the drumline from the marching band. On his fourth read-through, his brain puts the brakes on, too, and he’s finally able to smile.

“I like you, too,” he murmurs to the empty stairwell, and holds the paper closer than he’ll ever admit aloud.

 

==

 

“Who’s the secret crush?”

Teddy’s face flares bright red as he snaps his notebook shut, and Tommy blinks exactly once before full-on grinning. “Holy shit,” he says, ignoring his detention officer’s death-glare. “You have a little boyfriend!”

“Shut up,” Teddy mutters.

“The perfect poster child for Jessica’s band of misfits finally has something _fun_ going on.” Tommy kicks off his juvie-issued crocs and flops down in one of the folding chairs. “Come on. Spill.”

Teddy scratches a hand through his hair. “There’s nothing to talk about.”

“Yeah, and I’m a free man.” The detention officer shakes his head slowly, and Tommy raises his hands. “See? I’m not free, and you’re finally interesting. Now, fork over the details.”

“About what?” Cassie asks as she trails down the stairs. Nathaniel skulks behind her, hands in his pockets. Another fight, then.

Teddy shoots Tommy a desperate and probably pathetic glance, and Tommy beams. “T-Bone scored himself a boyfriend.”

Gasping, Cassie claps hands over her mouth. “Ohmigod, really?” she asks, practically vibrating until she remembers that they’re sitting in a church basement. She casts a quick glance at a nearby cross. “Sorry,” she tells it, “but Teddy’s never had a boyfriend before, and this is big news.”

“Huge,” Nathaniel says without any inflection at all.

Teddy sighs and stops hoping the floor will open up and swallow him whole. “Sorry to burst your bubbles,” he says, “but I don’t actually have a boyfriend.”

Tommy snorts. “Please. Anyone who writes a note as long as the one you were just gazing at totally wants to stick his tongue in your mouth.”

The officer scowls at the back of Tommy’s head, but Cassie stops chewing her snickerdoodle. “There’s a note?” she asks.

“We supposed to write notes tonight? Shit.” America Chavez bounds down the stairs, her unlaced boots smacking hard on the cement, and Teddy groans. Lucky for him, she immediately homes in on Tommy, and her face hardens. “Thought you lost privileges,” she greets.

Tommy leans back in his chair. “Turns out, therapy’s not really a privilege. More a necessary service to help rehabilitate me or whatever.” She rolls her eyes as she stomps over to the snack table, and Tommy shrugs. “But hey, look on the bright side: you’re no longer the only queer in the room who’s getting laid.”

Teddy’s face burns like it plans on blistering even as America huffs. “What, that a sign you’re—” she starts to retort, but she stops the second she notices Teddy. Her eyes widen. “Dios mío,” she says. “Hell froze over.”

“Hey!” Cassie protests. “Teddy’s a great catch!”

Great catch or not, Teddy stares at his feet.

“On a scale of one to ten, how badly do I need to worry about whatever’s going on down here?” Jessica asks as she and Eli reach the bottom of the stairs. “And before you answer,” she adds, holding up a hand, “know that my baby hates sleep, and I am _not_ in the mood.”

Almost as one, everyone glances over at Eli, who nods solemnly. Well, he nods until Jessica glares at him and then beats a hasty retreat over to the snack table. Jessica just crosses her arms. “Well?”

“Nothing interesting to report,” America says, grabbing a handful of chips.

Cassie nods. “Definitely not.”

“All’s quiet on the Western front,” Tommy agrees. Jessica narrows her eyes at him, and he plasters a hand to his chest. “God as my witness.”

Cassie eyes the cross on the wall a little nervously, and Jessica studies them all for one more suspicious minute before sighing. “Fine, whatever, just circle up,” she instructs as America cracks open a soda. “Tonight, we’re finishing up our discussion on building better self-esteem.”

Tommy groans. “Again?”

“You want to flash forward to personal accountability? Because that’s our next unit, and my car’s full of work books.” He and Eli both cringe, and Jessica smirks. “That’s what I thought. So, again: sit down, shut up, and let’s talk about how to feel good about ourselves.”

The topic of the night ends up being less about building your own self-esteem and more how to internalize the good things other people see inside you—or at least, that’s how Teddy ends up understanding it. Because Jessica talks a lot about how her old friend (and maybe former foster sister) Trish taught her about her good heart before passing the conversation onto the rest of the group. Cassie sniffles a little as she talks about how differently her mom and her (now dead) dad see her, Eli turns all poetic about his grandpa, and Teddy—

“Teddy?” Jessica asks at one point, and Teddy jerks his head up from his notebook. His whole face feels warm as he forces himself to stop playing with the fuzzy edge of Billy’s note. Jessica cocks her head to one side. “You’re looking lost tonight. Any thoughts?”

Sure, Teddy thinks, if you count a note about destiny (or _non_ -destiny, technically) that he knows by heart. 

“No,” he replies, glaring at Tommy when he cough-snickers. “At least, not yet.”

Jessica rolls her lips together. “Do I need to remind you that we’re in a safe space down here?”

“With God as our actual witness,” Nathaniel mutters, and Cassie kicks him.

Teddy almost smiles. “No, I’m good,” he half-lies.

After their session finishes up and everyone else leaves, he stops folding up chairs to glance at Jessica. She’s wiping down the snack table, her brow furrowed like she’s at war with every last crumb. With how Jessica elbows her way through life, she might be.

He watches her for a second before saying, “Can I ask you something?”

“Besides that question, you mean?” She tosses a grin over her shoulder, and he wrinkles his nose. “Sorry, a serious side-effect of breeding is that you start loving bad jokes. I think Luke might kick me out the next time I make a bad diaper pun.”

Teddy blinks. “There are good diaper puns?”

“Well, they can’t _all_ be bad, right?” She stops wiping to rest her hands on her hips. “Is this mystery question about why you were quiet all night?”

“I wasn’t—” Jessica cocks her head at him, and he rolls his lips together. He loves Jessica like a foul-mouthed, road-raging older sister, but he hates the way she peers right through him. He sometimes thinks she picks up on his insecurities the way most people pick up on his hair color, like they’re the most obvious bit about him. He drags a hand through his hair. “Homework,” he finally says.

She narrows her eyes. “Homework distracted you?” she asks.

“Essay on the cultural hallmarks of _To Kill a Mockingbird_. Still trying to wrap my head around it.” Jessica shudders, and he almost laughs—for a second, anyway. “But, uh, I wanted to ask about the whole shelter thing. I mean, you said I’d be moved right away, but since it’s been two weeks . . . ”

He trails off, kind of half-shrugging, and Jessica sighs so hard that she practically deflates. She leans against the table, her eyes drifting to the floor. “Believe me, Teddy, I’m trying. The shelter’s supposed to be a temporary stop-over, and I want you in an actual home. But at this point, you’ve disrupted enough times—”

He huffs out a breath. “Been kicked out, you mean,” he mutters.

“And I’m still trying to change that disruption in your file. Not your fault we don’t flag for bigoted assholes.” He tries to smile, but he knows he's failed when Jessica’s whole face softens. “You’re the most stable kid I know,” she says, “but on paper, to a stranger, you look like trouble. Might take a little longer because of it.”

Teddy nods, his attention drifting back to his notebook. “Okay.”

“But I promise, kid, I’m trying. And the second somebody nibbles—”

Jessica sounds so sorry—and worse, so _sad_ —that he smiles extra-hard as he looks back at her. “I’m okay, really,” he says, and this time, he’s barely lying.

 

==

 

 _Dear Billy_ , Teddy writes before balling up that sheet of paper.

The common rooms at the shelter always remind him of a frat house from a college movie, with guys chest-bumping and belching all over the place. Right now, sitting in the armchair by the window, he counts four empty soda cans, a fast-food burger wrapper, two abandoned _Sports Illustrated_ magazines, and somebody’s definitely unapproved pack of cigarettes. In another hour, their weekend housemother will stomp down the stairs and bellow at them to clean up, but for right now, Teddy’s living in squalor.

Squalor that smells like burnt pizza, he thinks, and watches as Ramon races out of the TV room to save his lunch.

 _I hate this place_ , he writes, and balls up that sheet, too.

A kid riding by on his bike waves as he passes the house—maybe because he notices Teddy in the window, maybe out of habit—and Teddy smiles a little as he waves back. He remembers sunny spring bike rides with his mom, years ago, but today, the memory feels like it belongs to a totally different person. Most of the time, Teddy believes that he’s the same person as when his mom died, but every once in a while, he’s not totally sure.

Like when a story on the nightly news about a house fire leaves him in tears.

Or when a spark of jealousy rushes through him during one of America’s _my mothers are way too overprotective_ rants.

Or right now, when he struggles to write even half a note to a guy from school.

“She’d know how to write this,” he tells the blank sheet of paper—and all of the balled-up ones on the floor around him, just for the record. “Or she’d tell me to just go talk to him. Like it’s easy.”

He sighs and stops drumming the pen against his leg. _I live in a foster care shelter,_ he writes, _because my parents are both dead. My dad died from cancer when I was pretty young—like, barely-remember-him young—but my mom died a couple years ago. Our apartment building caught fire. The firefighters said they thought she was helping our neighbors get out, but I don’t know for sure. Sometimes, I think they lied to me. Made up a story because a middle school kid can’t process the senselessness of death._

_(Uplifting note, right?)_

A couple guys bang in from outside, smelling like fresh cut grass. They push each other around, barely noticing Teddy in the armchair, and he waits for them to disappear into the kitchen before writing, _I live in this shelter because my last foster family kicked me out. They call it “disrupting,” but it really just means they don’t want you anymore. I liked them a lot, and they liked me, but my liking guys sort of trumped all of that. Because you can’t live in a family if you’re gay._

_(That’s sarcasm, for the record.)_

“Trev, you want a coke or something?” one of the guys yells from the kitchen.

From the TV room, Trevor shouts, “No, but grab me some chips!”

Teddy grips his pen harder. _I live in this stupid shelter_ , he scrawls, _with these guys who barely see me. Like I’m invisible. And I feel lucky that you saw me at all, because ever since I “disrupted” (hate that word), I just want to hide. Or maybe just stop existing until this feels better, until I’m not stuck here with strangers and don’t feel so—_

He jumps when the paper rips, his pen digging a long, blue trench across his stack of loose-leaf. He blinks at it for a minute, his heart rushing and his throat tight, and all of a sudden, he feels ready to cry.

“Dammit,” he mutters, balling up the ripped page.

This time, he decides against starting over. 

 

== 

 

“I guess that’s a ‘no’ on being not-strangers?”

Teddy’s heart freezes in his chest like his science teacher just dunked it in liquid nitrogen, and he braces himself as he slowly turns around. Just as he suspected, Billy stands directly behind him, his arms crossed over his (tight, black) t-shirt. The sea of other students parts around them, and for a second, they’re the Israelites of the passing-period exodus.

Teddy almost says that aloud, just to coax a smile out of Billy, but the hurt that flashes across Billy’s face punches him in the gut.

“I—” he says weakly, and the warning bell covers how his voice trembles. 

Billy rolls his eyes, but Teddy immediately notices the way his throat bobs. “I wrote you that note because— I don’t know, because it felt important. And if I built it all up in my head, fine, but after the tour—”

“You didn’t.” The words flop out of Teddy’s mouth, totally helpless, and Billy blinks at him. He ignores the way his ears heat up to inch closer. “Look, I’m bad at notes. Bad at writing, actually.”

“Except you’re in honors English.” Teddy frowns a little, and a twinkle creeps back into Billy’s eyes. “I told you, I used my peer ambassador superpowers to look up your schedule.”

“And memorize it?” Billy shrugs, his expression hardening again, and Teddy purses his lips. “Look, honors or not, I’m just really bad at notes. I wrote about a dozen rough drafts, but they all sounded stupid.”

Or crazy, he thinks, and watches as Billy’s shoulders loosen. “You could have said something,” he says after a few very long seconds. 

“I didn’t really see you, except in the lunch line, and—” The final bell cuts him off, and the last remaining stragglers in the hall scatter in seven different directions. Some lizard-brain instinct snaps through Teddy, and before he even thinks about it, he grabs Billy by the upper arm and drags him into the doorway of a darkened classroom. Billy stares up at him, wide-eyed and a little flushed.

In the back of his mind, he considers pressing Billy against the door and kissing him.

Instead, he clears his throat and releases Billy's arm. “I liked your note,” he says, “and I like talking to you. I’m just a lot better at talking. And if not-talking hurt you—”

“Not hurt,” Billy interrupts, nudging Teddy’s hand. “I guess I just worried that my note got a little intense.”

Teddy risks a smile. “I like that you’re a little intense,” he replies, and Billy’s returning grin almost blinds him. “I swear I’ll write you back. I just need a little more time.”

“Or we need a place to talk sometime. In private, without school being all, you know. _School_.” Teddy snorts, but Billy just rubs the side of his neck. “Like, I don’t know. Out at the mall, maybe. Over the weekend?”

All at once, Teddy’s mouth dries out until he feels like he’ll choke. The mall’s all the way on the outskirts of town, literal miles from the shelter. The clearly marked Suffolk County Youth Shelter, a house with a massive front gate and a warning about video surveillance. Not exactly the best first impression for Billy or his mom (or anybody’s mom, really).

Billy raises his eyebrows expectantly, and Teddy shrugs. “I don’t know about getting a ride,” he admits, “but if I check the bus schedule—”

“Well, wait, do you live near downtown?” The _hope_ in Billy’s voice steals Teddy’s breath right out of his chest, but he nods anyway. Billy grins. “Let’s meet at the coffee shop over by the courthouse. They have really good biscotti.”

Teddy almost laughs. “Those hard cookie sticks? You like those?”

“In hot chocolate? Always.” He snorts, and Billy sort of bumps the backs of their hands together again. “I can sneak over at like ten on Saturday while my brother’s at piano lessons. That okay?”

“Yeah,” Teddy says instantly. Billy blinks a little at his eagerness, and he feels his ears flare red. “I mean, sure. Yeah. I can probably—”

“Good,” Billy cuts him off. His smile always wakes the butterflies that live in the pit of Teddy’s stomach, but the tiny hint of a blush that creeps across his cheeks injects them with a big dose of speed. He cards fingers through his floppy hair. “Yeah, definitely good.”

“Definitely,” Teddy echoes, and he can’t help brushing their hands together again as Billy darts away for class.

 

==

 

“And my mom looks at the three of us—all covered in pancake mix, and Kyle with batter in his hair—and tells my dad, ‘Hey, they’re your sons.’”

Billy finishes the story with a completely straight face, and Teddy survives all of about four seconds before he bursts out laughing. The noise drowns out the easy listening that plays in the coffee shop, but better than that, it makes Billy smile. A real smile, one that reaches his eyes and sort of steals Teddy’s breath away.

At school, Billy smiles a lot, but never like this. Never in a way where Teddy wants to laugh forever, just to keep that glow.

“Your family sounds hilarious,” he says when he’s back to breathing normally, and Billy shrugs. “No, really. Most kids complain about their little brothers and sisters, but you—”

“Oh, I could totally complain. I just figured the chances of you liking me went up with funny stories.” Teddy blinks, more at his honesty than anything else, and Billy’s cheeks redden. He drops his gaze to his cup. “Too intense again?”

Teddy shakes his head. “Definitely not,” he says, and Billy smiles again.

They sit in silence for a couple seconds, Billy finishing off his fancy hot chocolate while Teddy nurses the dregs of his lukewarm tea. Other than the couple dollars he’d begged off Jessica after group, he’s limited to the spare change in the shelter’s couch cushions and the kindness of strangers—not, of course, that he’d ever tell Billy that.

Billy thumps his empty cup on the tabletop and grins. “I need a refill,” he decides. “You want anything?”

Teddy glances at his own drink. “I—”

“Pretty sure that’s a yes,” Billy cuts him off, and he winks as he springs up from his seat.

Teddy smiles at his back and tries hard not to stare, but his brain and heart both laugh at the effort. After all, Billy’s outfit (skinny jeans, a t-shirt with a cartoony Earth on it, his bracelets) perfectly matches all of Teddy’s most elaborate daydreams. He leans on the counter until his shirt rides up, and Teddy—

Teddy swallows the rest of his tea in one hungry gulp. 

Peer Ambassador Billy Kaplan might actually kill him.

“I hope you like chocolate scones,” Billy says as he returns with two cups and three different pastry bags. “Or off-brand rice cereal treats. _Or_ —” He pauses when he catches Teddy’s grin, and his eyes narrow. “Are you laughing at me?”

“It’s in a good way,” Teddy promises, and Billy smiles like the sun. 

“So,” he says after unloading, their knees colliding under the table, “what about you?”

Teddy shrugs. “What do you want to know?”

“Everything?” He laughs a little when Billy flashes him a cheesy grin. “Or just, I don’t know. Do you have siblings? Parents? A dog?”

“No, yes, and no.” He considers adding a “technically” to the end of the sentence, but Billy just rests his chin on his hand, waiting. Teddy forces a little smile. “My dad, uh, died when I was pretty young,” he says uncertainly. “I don’t remember a lot about him. Not that I would’ve, anyway—he was in the military, travelled a lot—but—”

His voice fails him, and he coughs as he reaches for his drink. But Billy intercepts him, his fingers soft against the back of Teddy’s hand. When he blinks, Billy says, “I’m sorry.”

“I’m mostly used to it. You can’t really miss someone you barely knew.”

Billy wrinkles his nose. “Well, _that’s_ a massive load of bullshit,” he complains.

“Sometimes, that’s the only way to feel better.” Billy studies Teddy for a moment, his fingers still stroking the back of his hand, and he swallows uncomfortably. “My mom took great care of me,” he says after a beat. “I hardly ever thought about how my dad was missing. It only started to matter in the last couple years.”

Billy nods sagely. “Puberty.”

“What?” 

“You missed him because of puberty, right? All your big, masculine changes, and no dad to explain them.” He gestures generally at Teddy, but Teddy feels his eyes tracing the line of his shoulders and arms. He flushes a little and grabs his drink with his other hand. “What?”

“No, you’re right,” Teddy lies, working hard to smile. “Definitely started feeling that hole around the time I turned eleven.”

Except mostly because my mom died, he thinks, and sips his tea. 

Billy’s finishing up a ridiculous story about his eighth grade science project when his phone chimes, and he slumps in his seat when he reads the text. “Mom’s done waiting for me,” he complains as he types a response. “Next time, I’m just admitting that I’m meeting a cute boy. See what she says.”

A white-hot, itchy feeling climbs up Teddy’s neck, and he drags fingers through his hair. “I’m not sure—”

Billy shrugs. “They already kind of know, and she’d definitely think you’re cute.” He rolls his lips together before glancing up from his phone. “Because you are. Cute, I mean. And I—”

His voice falters a little, and Teddy stretches out to knock their knuckles together. “Yeah,” he says quietly. “I know.”

They walk out of the coffee shop close enough that their shoulders bump the whole time. More than once, Teddy catches Billy leaning into him so that, when their arms swing, their fingers brush together.

“Listen,” Teddy says as they step out into the glaring spring sun, “I really liked hanging out with you. Maybe we can—”

The words die in the back of his throat at the feeling of a warm palm on his cheek. He tips toward Billy almost involuntarily, blinking the whole while, but Billy just draws in a breath. “I want to kiss you goodbye,” he says, like it’s the simplest thing in the world.

Teddy’s hand trembles a little as he reaches to touch Billy’s side. “Me too," he murmurs, and Billy smiles.

Billy smells like sunlight and coffee, but he tastes like hot cocoa. And when he pulls away, Teddy swears he brings part of Teddy’s heart along for the ride. 

“See you Monday,” he says, his thumb brushing Teddy’s cheekbone.

Teddy gulps. “Yeah,” he replies, and watches Billy walk away. 

 

==

 

“He’s adorable!” Cassie shouts, and Teddy chokes on a cracker.

She bounds down the stairs to practically pounce on Teddy, her arms around his neck and his cracker crumbs almost landing in her hair. Over in the sharing circle, both Tommy and his detention officer roll their eyes. “I don’t—”

“Your _boyfriend_.” Teddy’s face flares red, and Cassie scoots back enough to glare at him. “You refused to talk about him last week—”

“And the week before,” Nathaniel adds, sidling up to the table.

“—but now, having seen you two together? No way around it.” She bounces on the balls of her feet like a little kid at Christmas. “Tell me all about him.”

“Oh, _please_ do.” Teddy whips around to glare at Tommy, who shrugs. “What’s the matter, T-Bone? Don’t want me being invested in your happiness?”

“Maybe he doesn’t want you mocking him,” Cassie snaps, and he waves her off to lean back in his chair. Teddy enjoys about three whole seconds of silence before she flicks her gaze back in his direction, a scientist peering at her lab rat. “Spill.”

Teddy pokes at the tray of crackers. “There’s nothing to—”

“Uh, except you kissed him,” she reminds him, hands on her hips. “In broad daylight. Last time I checked, that means more than _nothing_.”

“Wait, who’s kissing in the daytime?” America asks as she hops down the last few stairs, and this time, Teddy actually groans aloud. She freezes, her face almost overflowing with confusion until she spots the blush that Teddy swears is about to spread to his _hair_. In a lot of ways, her sharp grin reminds him of Tommy, just without the underlying menace.

He sighs and scrubs a palm over his face. “Guys—”

“Oh, no. _No_ way you’re bobbing and weaving your way out of this one. Not today.” America waits to throw an arm around his shoulders until after he raises his head. “You are telling us every little detail about this boy,” she says seriously, “and if you’re lucky, we’ll let you keep seeing him.”

Teddy blinks. “Let me?” he repeats, and Cassie and America nod in unison. “As much as I like that you want to look out for me, I don’t really need your boyfriend approval. And not just because we’re not dating, but because I—” He loses a second to struggling for the right word before ducking out from under America’s arm. “I’m not going to break,” he finally decides.

Cassie’s shoulders slump. “Oh, Teddy,” she murmurs. Like he’s crying in group again, he thinks, and his jaw tightens.

America rolls her eyes. “Yeah, you’re right. The nicest, kindest, most heart-of-gold guy in this misery circle’s not gonna break if somebody curb-stomps on his heart.” He cringes a little at the imagery, but she just grabs a cookie. “Look, we all talk a good game,” she presses, jabbing his chest with a strawberry wafer, “and we all pretend we don’t care. Especially that asshole over there.”

She jerks a thumb over at Tommy, who stops picking at his soda can tab to glare at her. “My heart’s blacker than your stupid hair, and you know it.”

“See?” she asks, and Teddy almost smiles. She bumps their shoulders together. “I know Miss J likes to think we’ve all got a mushy marshmallow center, but yours is actually that squishy. And personally, I don’t want to see it burnt to a crisp by some asshole who likes s’mores.”

Cassie tilts her head to one side. “Are you sure that’s the metaphor you wanted?” 

“And burnt _is_ really the only way to eat marshmallows,” Nathaniel chimes in.

Scowling, America crosses his arms. “You know, for a bunch of assholes who need lessons on self-esteem and shit—”

“I’m okay,” Teddy interrupts, and he proudly ignores the way his face heats up when all his friends glance back over at him. He shifts his weight a little, but not without forcing a smile. “I know you think I’m mushy or whatever, but I’ve survived a lot worse than a crush not working out. And really, the fact that I even _want_ to like him . . . ” His voice falters, and he shrugs. “I guess my point’s just that I don’t need you guys to look out for me. At least, not yet.”

The room falls pin-drop quiet for a couple seconds before Tommy says, “You know, I’m pretty good at beating people up if you ever need it.”

Behind him, the detention officer sighs. “He’s kidding.”

America huffs. “You wish,” she mutters, and for some stupid reason, Teddy actually laughs.

 

==

 

A little while after group, as Jessica talks to Eli’s grandparents (again), Teddy slides up next to Cassie at the snack table. “Billy.”

She frowns. “What?”

Despite the nervous feeling that climbs up from the pit of his belly, he smiles. “The guy you saw me with,” he says, barely glancing at her. “His name’s Billy. He’s in my grade. My peer ambassador, actually.”

Cassie rolls her lips together. “And you like him?”

“Yeah. A lot.”

She grins like a sunbeam. “I’m _so_ glad,” she replies, and leans her head on his shoulder.

 

==

 

“Can I ask a weird question?”

Teddy stops playing with the last of his fried rice (and not, like it probably looks, staring kind of helplessly at Billy’s beautiful, agile hands) to glance across the table. The mall food court’s crazy busy—like a zoo, mostly—but he feels totally comfortable.

Of course, it’s really easy to feel relaxed around Billy, who smiles and blushes every time their knees brush under the table. Somehow, he always knows the right way to break the silences, the right time to slide fingers through Teddy’s hair, the right response to Teddy’s occasional blushing. He picks self-consciously at his fries, and Teddy smiles like a big idiot. “Let me guess: you want me to win some skee ball tickets.”

Billy scowls at him. “And suffer through another one of your beat-downs? Not in a million years, buddy.”

“Even if I bought you another snap bracelet?” He blushes when Teddy tickles his wrist instead of the shimmery rainbow bracelet, and for a couple seconds, they sit just like that, barely touching in the mall chaos. Totally anonymous, Teddy thinks. Another nameless teenage couple blending into the crowd.

Except before his brain clings too hard to the whole _couple_ thing, Billy asks, “Was that your mom who dropped you off at school yesterday?”

Teddy’s mouth dries out faster than Death Valley, his tongue transforming into sandpaper. “I—”

“You don’t really talk about her ever,” Billy continues, raising his hands, “and that’s okay. I mean, most people say I talk about my family too much. Side effect of the whole ‘raised by shrinks’ thing.” Teddy nods dumbly, and Billy’s shoulders soften. “But she looked worried about you, when she dropped you off,” he continues, “and I just thought—”

And in the first mother-related truth since that morning at the coffee shop, Teddy blurts, “That’s Jessica. Not my mom.”

Billy nods, but the skepticism in his expression (and pursed lips) shines like a floodlight. In their last three weekly meetups—always on a Saturday, always at a neutral location, always slightly shadowed by Billy’s curious mother and Teddy’s reliance on the city bus schedule—he’s danced around questions about his family. Sometimes, he changes the subject or tosses a question in Billy’s direction; other times, he just smiles, shrugs, and twines their fingers together. A classic distraction technique, sure, but kind of a jerk move.

But right now, Billy’s tearing up his napkin in his lap, his hands too far to reach.

Sighing, Teddy drags fingers through his hair. “I, uh— I’m in therapy,” he finally answers, ignoring the way Billy’s eyebrows rise. “Mostly these group sessions with a bunch of other kids our age, but a couple times a year, Jessica and I meet one-on-one. Sort of map out the next steps in my, I don’t know. Treatment, or whatever.”

Or in my case plan, he thinks, and his stomach sours at the new threads in his full-on web of lies. Still, better than the horrible truth of dead parents, foster placements, and a shelter full of revolving strangers.

Right?

Billy studies him for a couple seconds, his head slightly tilted. “Your therapist brought you back to school?”

“After my appointment, yeah. I didn’t have another ride.” Billy keeps staring him down, his lips still pressed together, and Teddy sighs. “I’m really sorry,” he says honestly, his arms resting on the table. “I didn’t mean to _not_ tell you, I just— You’re this normal, awesome guy, and I don’t want to sound . . . ”

He thinks of all the words Jessica forbids—crazy, screwed-up, brain-fucked (a Tommy Shepherd original)—but all of them fly right out of his head when Billy grabs his hands. “Did you forget that my parents are psychologists?” he asks, his tone a little bit chiding even as he grins. “My mom thinks everyone needs to go to therapy at least once in their life. Two or three times, if you’re related to her.” Teddy snorts, but Billy just shrugs. “No way I’m going to judge you for going to group or meeting with your scary-pretty therapist.”

Teddy almost smirks. “Scary-pretty?”

“You know, pretty with an edge of murder.” When the corner of his mouth twitches, Billy points a finger at him. “Don’t you dare call me scary-pretty,” he warns.

“I was actually thinking of my friend America,” Teddy promises as Billy wrinkles his nose. “You’re more just regular pretty. If I had to pick, I mean.”

Billy blinks exactly twice before a blush blooms over both his cheeks, and he huffs out a little breath as he ducks his head away. Still, he holds onto Teddy’s hand like a lifeline, and his throat bobs when Teddy threads their fingers together. “Someone created you out of my dreams,” he murmurs. “Only way to explain you.”

Teddy’s chest clenches. “I think the same thing about you, most the time,” he admits, and he swears his heart stops when Billy smiles. 

 

==

 

Two weeks later, Teddy opens the gate in front of the shelter and finds Jessica waiting for him on the front porch.

He stops in his tracks, useless as a deer in headlights while his heart crash-lands in his gut. For a split-second, he wonders if he looks the same way he feels, all fuzzy and kiss-rumpled after a morning with Billy. Sure, he’d checked his hair and face in the library bathroom, scanning for the telltale signs of greedy study room kisses, but he’d looked normal. Flushed and breathless, maybe, but otherwise totally like your friendly neighborhood Teddy Altman.

Except after that last bathroom run, he’d kissed Billy goodbye on the sidewalk outside the library.

And immediately after they’d boarded the city bus.

 _And_ at the stop before his, one last-ditch effort at holding onto Billy as tight as possible.

He flattens down his hair as he forces all the kissing out of his head, and by the time the gate bangs shut behind him, he’s actually smiling. “I thought you said weekends were sacred family time,” he greets. “No meltdowns, no dramatics, and definitely no teenage emergencies.”

Jessica snorts. “The way my child’s acting lately? Nothing’s sacred.” He laughs a little, hyperaware of just how closely she keeps watching him. Her eyes narrow as he hops up the front steps. “House mom said you were at the library.”

He nods. “History project.”

“With?”

“My history group.” She screws up her nose at him, and he sighs as he flops down on a porch chair. “Lou,” he fibs, pulling the name out of midair. “Michaela. And Ellen and Billy.”

She rolls her lips together, still studying him. “You like them?”

He shrugs. “They’re okay.”

“And your school? That going okay?”

“It—” Something in Jessica’s expression shifts, almost softening, and Teddy swears that a literal chill runs through him. “What’s going on?” he demands.

“Why do you—” He bristles, his body tightening up without his permission, and Jessica picks at a frayed spot on her jeans for a second. “I might have a new placement,” she says.

His mouth drops open, and he actually gapes at her. “You’re kidding,” he says, and he knows from the way she blinks that he sounds as lost and off-balance as he suddenly feels. He shakes his head, his palm scrubbing over his face. “I’ve been here a month, Jessica. No issues, no disciplinary reports, nothing. And I don’t want to—”

“I know,” she cuts him off. When he rolls his eyes, she drags her chair over, their knees almost touching. “Better the devil you know, right? Suck it up, keep your head down, and bunk with a bunch of assholes because after the last couple placements, another family might actually be worse. But—” 

“Stop blaming the bigots for why I might not want to leave!” She stares at him, a little wide-eyed, and he drags a hand through his hair before staring down at the porch slats. “I don’t like living _here_ ,” he admits quietly, “but I like everything else about this place. The town, the school, my teachers, my friends—”

“A boy?” The knowing certainty in her voice catches him off-guard, and his heart sinks even as she flashes him a wry smile. “I know you guys think I can’t hear you when I’m upstairs waiting for Eli,” she says, “but you’re teenagers shouting in a cinderblock basement. You’re lucky people can’t hear you from the street.”

His ears burn. “I—”

“I don’t care,” she continues, and he’s surprised at how gently she touches his arm. “But you know I can’t keep you here just because of a boy. That’s not how this works.”

He sighs. “I know,” he murmurs, his voice sticky and choked. She pats his arm, three thousand percent the almost-sister he imagines in his head, and he forces himself to smile. “I don’t want to spend the rest of high school moving around,” he admits. “I want something that at least smells like normal.”

Jessica’s shoulders slump. “I know.”

Not really, Teddy thinks, but he nods anyway. “If you have to move me,” he says after a couple more seconds, “can you just make sure it sticks this time?”

She sighs. “I’ll try, kiddo,” she replies, and knocks their knees together.

 

==

 

Jessica promises to keep him updated about the potential placement. Like his heart can really handle another iteration of the stupid foster care waiting game.

Still, he tells himself that the anxiety’s the reason he avoids Billy at school all week.

It’s a lie, obviously, but what else is new?

 

==

 

“I, uh—”

“You really want to talk right now?” Billy asks, shimmying his hips in a way that chases every coherent thought out of Teddy’s head. Thanks to Oscar Kaplan’s soccer double-header, they’re totally alone in the Kaplan living room, no other human in sight. And while the TV plays some random cooking show on Food Network, Billy straddles Teddy’s lap, his face beet red even as their lips brush.

Like something out of his most vivid dreams, Teddy thinks as he tips his head back.

Billy chases his mouth, and his brain pretty much short circuits.

“I need to tell you something,” he somehow says, plastering his hands on Billy’s sides to stop the kiss in its tracks. “Now, before—”

“You get even more distracted and stammering?” Billy teases.

Teddy feels his whole chest flush when he says, “No, before I wimp out.”

He only realizes how serious he sounds by the way Billy stills, his face paling. Not in surprise, either, but in fear, like he expects Teddy to drop some sort of bombshell right in his lap. Right away, Teddy loses his nerve. At least, until the truth crawls back up his spine, a pin-pricking tarantula he knows he’ll never shake off. He struggles against the feeling, and the tightness in his chest, as he drops his hands onto the couch.

Billy immediately scrambles away, flopping gracelessly onto the next couch cushion. His hair hides his eyes, and he ducks his head. “What’d I do?” he murmurs.

Teddy swears his heart stops. “You didn’t—”

“We’re alone for the first time, and you’re—” Billy’s voice cracks, and he gestures helplessly to the space between them. “First, you avoid me at school all week, and now—”

“But it’s not _you_.” He snaps his mouth shut, his face still turned away, and Teddy heaves a sigh. A boulder settles on his shoulders as he drops his eyes to his own lap. “I might need to move,” he finally says.

Billy jerks his head up. “What?”

“I said—”

“But you just moved here.” The words tremble a little, and Teddy rolls his lips together. “You only started school, like, a month ago.”

“I know,” Teddy says, glancing over, “but—”

“Is there a problem with your mom’s work?” He blinks a little as Billy tilts closer, his eyebrows raised. “Because if something’s wrong there, I mean, my mom consults at the hospital sometimes. She knows a lot of the doctors. She might be able to say something to them, make sure she keeps her job.”

The determination in his tone almost chokes Teddy. He forces himself to shake his head. “It’s not my mom.”

Billy rolls his eyes. “You don’t have to play tough about her today. Especially when we can maybe—”

“Billy, I don’t _have_ a mom.” 

Teddy cringes at how _sharp_ the words all sound, never mind the way Billy jerks back a few inches. They stare at each other for a second, confusion flitting back and forth across Billy’s expression. “I don’t—”

“My mom’s dead. She died in a fire when I was eleven.” Billy blinks at him uncomprehendingly, his mouth hanging open, and Teddy shakes his head again. “I live in a shelter for foster children,” he continues, every breath feeling like his last. “But my case manager, she thinks she found me a new place to live. And because of that, I might need to move.”

Billy closes his mouth slowly, but otherwise, he just keeps gaping, his eyes wide but somehow still empty. The longer the quiet stretches on, though, the more Teddy’s skin itches. “I wanted to tell you sooner,” he says limply, “but I didn’t want to start by dumping everything on your lap. So—”

“You lied.” He flinches at the raw, accusatory hurt in Billy’s those two words—and again at the way he rockets off the couch when Teddy nods. Billy shoves his floppy hair out of his face, his hands trembling. “I told you everything about me, even wrote that stupid note—”

Teddy’s heart drops. “Not stupid.”

“It’s stupid if it didn’t mean anything to you!” The shout drowns out the TV, ringing in Teddy’s ears like a church bell, but Billy just shakes his head. “I met you,” he says, his voice soft and uneven, “and I trusted you. I blurted out everything in my head because I thought you understood. I thought you _got_ it. And now—” 

“I didn’t plan on meeting you.” Billy whips around, and for a second, Teddy can almost ignore the tears clinging to his long, dark lashes. “I know that’s a stupid reason, but since Jessica planned on moving me right away—”

“Your therapist?” Billy croaks.

“And case manager,” Teddy admits, and Billy rolls his eyes. “She didn’t want me staying at the shelter this long. I just assumed—”

“That you’d flirt and disappear.” Teddy’s mouth falls open, a side effect of the flash of cold that runs through his whole body, but Billy huffs and glances away. “Toy with the guy who throws himself at you. Make out a little. No harm, since you’re about to leave.”

Teddy shakes his head. “It’s not like that.”

“Except it _is_!” Billy throws up his hands, his cheeks damp, and Teddy curls his trembling fingers into helpless fists. “I thought we knew each other,” he murmurs, “but it turns out that I never knew anything. At least, nothing real.”

Teddy gulps around the thick feeling in the back of his throat. “I know I messed up,” he says, “but the way I feel, it’s—”

Billy shakes his head. “Go home, Teddy,” he says, his face tilting away again. “Just— Don’t make it worse, don’t try to fix it. Just go home.”

“Except I don’t have a home,” Teddy says dumbly, his own eyes burning. “I have a couple bags and a bunk bed, nothing else.”

Billy snorts and drags his sleeve over his face. “Well, you’ll figure it out,” he replies, and walks out of the room.

 

==

 

Teddy pretends to throw up both Monday and Tuesday morning, just to avoid school (and, more importantly, Billy). On the third day, Alexander props his shoulder against the doorjamb of their room. “You pregnant?” he asks.

Teddy lifts his head off his pillow. “What?”

Alexander shrugs. “My last foster sister acted like you when her boyfriend knocked her up. I just figured—” He swears and ducks a split-second before Teddy’s pillow smacks him in the face, his good humor drying up like a well in the middle of a desert. “For that shit,” he sneers, “I’m telling House Mom you’re _fine_.”

“Fuck you,” Teddy grumbles, and throws back the covers.

In the lunchroom, Billy never even glances at him.

 

==

 

He sits on the porch for most of the next weekend, his notebook (and Billy’s note) in his lap. He barely touches his homework, and he only eats when he starts to feel shaky.

“Wanna talk about it?” Cedric asks Sunday afternoon.

Teddy shrugs. “Nothing to talk about,” he lies, stroking his thumb over the edge of the note.

 

==

 

“If he ditched you over a little white lie,” America says around a mouthful of double-chocolate brownie, “he’s not worth your time.”

“Uh, did you hear the same sob story as the rest of us?” Tommy demands from his officer-approved folding chair. She rolls her eyes, and he raises his hands. “I’m not trying to start trouble—”

“This time,” Nathaniel observes.

“—but unless my listening comprehension tanked in the last ten minutes, our heart-of-gold buddy lied to his boyfriend about everything other than his eye color and shoe size.” His eyes drift down to Teddy’s sneakers. “On second thought, forget the shoe size thing.”

Anger flashes across America’s face, but Teddy stops her with a little shake of his head. “He’s right,” he admits. “I lied about everything. My mom, where I lived, Jessica—”

“No, you lied about details,” Cassie corrects. Teddy blinks at her, and she smiles as she wraps an arm around his waist. “As long as you told the truth about the important things, like your feelings, he’ll forgive you.” She rolls her lips together. “At least, he should.”

Across the room, Tommy claps exaggeratedly. “Rousing speech. Moved me to tears.”

“Oh, go to hell,” Cassie spits, and for the first time in two weeks, Teddy almost laughs. She tilts her head up to study him. “Talk to him at school tomorrow,” she instructs. “Tell him you’re sorry and that you really do like him. If he’s a good guy, he’ll forgive you.”

America snorts. “Or punch you in the face,” she mutters.

Cassie shoots her a sharp glare, and Teddy sighs. “Thanks,” he says, “but he barely even glances in my direction anymore. I think talking to him might take an act of student congress or something.”

“Last I checked, T-Bone, the pen is mightier than the sword.” Tommy cracks open his soda before tilting his head to the side. “Or is it _penis_ is mightier? I mean, you’d know.”

America clenches her fists. “One of these days, I swear—”

“No murder before midnight,” Jessica calls from the top of the stairs, and America rolls her eyes.

 

== 

 

On Sunday, Teddy closes the door to his room, tucks himself up in the corner of his bunk, and writes.

_Right before my mom died, I had my first real crush. Not a playground girlfriend I married by the slide or something, but a boy who I totally fell in love with. I stared at him across the lunchroom at our school. I wrote our names together in a secret notebook at home. I kind of fell off the deep end._

_But then, my mom died._

_After that happened, nothing else really mattered. I ended up in this weird survival mode where I shut everything else out. Focused on my foster home and not breaking down crying at school and all the interviews with cops because my whole life felt out of control._

_Mostly because it was._

_And even when I stopped hurting all the time, even when I started going out with friends (or even a guy or two) and trying to figure out how to be thirteen and gay and— I don’t know, it just never really mattered that much._

_Until, like, right now._

_I thought I’d be gone in three days. Three days to suffer through all the butterflies in my stomach before I never saw you again. But you wrote me that note, and I stayed longer._

_And you asked me for coffee, and I stayed longer. And you kissed me, and I stayed longer. And all of a sudden, I’d hidden all this stuff from you without meaning to. And instead of it not mattering because I was leaving, it mattered too much because I stayed. _

_I never wanted to be that guy to you. You know the kind of guy: with the dead parents and the baggage and the broken parts. I didn’t want to be a charity case. I wanted you to like normal me, the guy who existed before everything fell apart. And instead, I just shit all over you. _

_You didn’t deserve that. Because you deserve honesty. So here’s the total truth:_

_I like you. I like you a lot. I like you more than I’ve ever liked anyone, even the guys I went out with before now. I like you enough that I am writing you a note you’ll probably never read, because I don’t want to blow it with you again._

_But worse, I don’t want to move while you hate me. Honestly, I don’t want to move at all. I want to stay here. I want to keep staying longer, close to you._

_I’m sorry for lying to you. I’m sorry for not trusting that you’d understand all my messed up parts. And I’m really sorry I hurt you._

He stares at the note—his messy handwriting, his scratched-out misspellings, the ripped corner of the page—before he finally thinks up an ending.

 _And if you can’t forgive me,_ he writes, _I hope we can be not-strangers._

_Your whatever (maybe friend, maybe something else, maybe nothing),_  
_Teddy_

 

==

 

“Did you mean it?”

The familiar voice (warm, comforting, a little scared) cuts through the usual after-school hallway bedlam, and Teddy jerks his head up from his locker to come face-to-face with Billy. They’re only about ten feet apart, separated mostly by frazzled mathletes rushing to their practice. But despite the throng of other students, Teddy still blushes like outside the vanilla-scented science rooms.

Billy looks kind of windswept and lost, half like an illustration on a cheap romance novel and half like a runner finishing a marathon. He brushes his hair out of his face with one hand, and in the other—

Teddy swallows.

In the other, he clutches that stupid, desperate, ridiculous note.

Teddy gapes at him, and within about two seconds, his whole understanding of human language flies right out of his head. He wets his lips, tries to breathe, and ends up swallowing again. Gulping, mostly, as a thousand thoughts ricochet around in his brain.

Billy shifts, his own throat bobbing. “If you’re about to tell me you’re lying again,” he says shakily, “then you are literally the _worst_ —”

Reality crashes into Teddy like a freight train, and he blurts, “Not lying.” He slams his locker shut before fighting his way upstream to Billy. They stand close enough to touch, but he shoves his hands in his pockets instead. “I wouldn’t lie to you again,” he says, softer this time. “After everything I—”

“Yeah, sure,” Billy cuts him off, raising a hand. “But did you _mean_ it?”

Teddy glances at the note for a moment, his heart in his throat. He rolls his lips together before murmuring, “Yeah, I did. Every word.”

Billy nods unevenly, his face totally unreadable for pretty much the first time in the last seven or eight weeks, and Teddy stomps down on all the terror threatening to climb out of his stomach to grab Billy’s hand. Billy blinks, almost stepping away. “What—” 

“I don’t know what’s going to happen with this foster home,” Teddy says, ignoring the gaggle of girls who sneer as they elbow past. “I might move tomorrow, and I might be at the shelter until I age out. But if you can ignore that—and not totally hate me—I really want—” 

Billy exhales roughly. “Like I could hate you,” he mutters, and immediately reaches up to loop arms around Teddy’s neck. To hug him, Teddy realizes belatedly, and he pulls Billy close enough that he swears they’ll both break. They cling to each other, Billy’s breath warm against Teddy’s skin.

“I missed you,” Teddy murmurs, sharing what feels like the biggest secret of all. “Maybe that’s stupid, but—”

“I missed you, too,” Billy cuts him off, and despite everything, Teddy smiles.

They hug for a long time, swaying like junior high kids at their spring dance, before Billy finally pulls away. He loses a second or two to wiping his eyes (just like Teddy), but eventually, he draws in a steadying breath. “I’m not really good at going out with people,” he admits. “And if you move, I don’t know what happens. I just want this.” He slides a hand down Teddy’s side, his eyes still searching Teddy’s face. “I want to go out with you for as long as possible. Maybe longer.”

And even though Teddy knows all the things that should scare him—like moving, like dating, like the way everything with Billy straddles the line between joy and heart-stopping terror—he shrugs. “Well, like you said in your note, maybe we met because of fate or God. Or neither, since you barely believe in them.”

Billy wrinkles his nose. “I said it _so_ much better than that.”

Teddy grins. “A little, yeah,” he admits, and leans down to kiss his boyfriend.

**Author's Note:**

> In case you've not been following the MPU Working Hiatus on my tumblr, I've posted:
> 
> [The Harmless Error playlist](http://the-wordbutler.tumblr.com/post/141631053207/mpu-playlist-harmless-error)  
> [The Chain of Custody playlist](http://the-wordbutler.tumblr.com/post/140830758672/mpu-playlist-chain-of-custody)  
> [MPU bonus material (in the form of bits cut from various stories)](http://the-wordbutler.tumblr.com/post/141227457187/mpu-bonus-material)
> 
> I also wrote a [Mack/Fitz post-episode story](http://archiveofourown.org/works/6410584) in the actual Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. universe. That's right: an in-universe story! Shocking, I know.
> 
> I'll be back in a couple weeks with "Bags of Cats" (a comedy featuring Bruce Banner and two very awful days). You'll enjoy it, I think.


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